of her dismay, to seize the head of d'Alcacer's Man of Fate, press it
to her breast once, fling it far away, and vanish herself, vanish out
of life like a wraith. The Man of Fate sat silent and bowed, yet with
a suggestion of strength in his dejection. "If I don't speak," Mrs.
Travers said to herself, with great inward calmness, "I shall burst into
tears." She said aloud, "What could have happened? What have you dragged
me in here for? Why don't you tell me your news?"

"I thought you didn't want to hear. I believe you really don't want to.
What is all this to you? I believe that you don't care anything about
what I feel, about what I do and how I end. I verily believe that you
don't care how you end yourself. I believe you never cared for your own
or anybody's feelings. I don't think it is because you are hard, I think
it is because you don't know, and don't want to know, and are angry with
life."

He flourished an arm recklessly, and Mrs. Travers noticed for the first
time that he held a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Is that your news there?" she asked, significantly. "It's difficult to
imagine that in this wilderness writing can have any significance. And
who on earth here could send you news on paper? Will you let me see it?
Could I understand it? Is it in English? Come, King Tom, don't look at
me in this awful way."

She got up suddenly, not in indignation, but as if at the end of her
endurance. The jewelled clasps, the gold embroideries, gleamed elusively
amongst the folds of her draperies which emitted a mysterious rustle.

"I can't stand this," she cried. "I can't stand being looked at like
this. No woman could stand it. No woman has ever been looked at like
this. What can you see? Hatred I could understand. What is it you think
me capable of?"

"You are very extraordinary," murmured Lingard, who had regained his
self-possession before that outburst.

"Very well, and you are extraordinary, too. That's understood--here we
are both under that curse and having to face together whatever may turn
up. But who on earth could have sent you this writing?"

"Who?" repeated Lingard. "Why, that young fellow that blundered on my
brig in the dark, bringing a boatload of trouble alongside on that
quiet night in Carimata Straits. The darkest night I have ever known. An
accursed night."

Mrs. Travers bit her lip, waited a little, then asked quietly:

"What difficulty has he got into now?"

"Difficulty!" cried Ling